<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Admittance by Im_A_Terrible_Person</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30086073">Admittance</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_A_Terrible_Person/pseuds/Im_A_Terrible_Person'>Im_A_Terrible_Person</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Requests :) [20]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Real Person Fiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Bottom Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Camboy Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Degradation, Dildos, Exhibitionism, F/M, Getting Together, Implied Relationships, Lingerie, M/M, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Name-Calling, Overstimulation, Panties, Phone Sex, Plushophilia, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Smut, Stomach Bulge, Sub Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, consensual voyeurism, implied tho, pillow humping, thigh highs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:54:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,044</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30086073</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_A_Terrible_Person/pseuds/Im_A_Terrible_Person</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Schlatt didn't mean to tell them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Charlie Dalgleish/Jschlatt, Jschlatt/Minx | JustAMinx (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt/Ted Nivision, Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot/Ted Nivison/Minx | JustAMinx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Requests :) [20]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2193852</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>315</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Admittance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For ♡ &amp; rammy &lt;3</p><p>Let me know if you want me to change anything!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You know how late at night, when you’re hanging out with your friends, you just want to… admit anything? Just confess everything? Schlatt avoided people at that time like the plague, afraid that he’d give away something important, something devastating. Even if it felt like a good idea at the time, by the time he left he was cursing himself and swearing up and down that he’d never do it again, never trust someone like that again.</p><p>He usually succeeded, always keeping his words in check, never revealing more than he meant to. Schlatt was proud of his restraint, the tight grip he kept on all social interactions, always just out of reach, always leaving people grasping at straws, trying to figure out what, if anything, he said was true. He always left the conversation before he could start spilling his guts, blathering on about things that Schlatt wanted nobody to know.</p><p>Schlatt wished he’d remembered to keep that sentiment. He’d been in a groupchat, a small one, one that only included some of his closer friends. It had been late, around one in the morning, and he’d just… he’d felt like it didn’t matter, that they were his friends, he could trust them. It wouldn’t mean anything. Schlatt wasn’t even sure what had prompted it, didn’t really pay attention until he’d already hit send.</p><p>Fuck. </p><p><i>Fuck</i>.</p><p>Schlatt’s stomach dropped, twisting as he stared at his phone, heart pounding, suddenly all too aware of the fact that nobody was typing, like his confession had slammed everything to a halt. He turned his phone off, trying to take a breather, but he couldn’t help but open it back up, watching the little typing animation play, stop, start, stop, start, fuck, what had he been <i>thinking</i>?!</p><p>He got up, paced, tried to calm himself down, but he couldn’t, couldn’t look away from his phone, couldn’t forget that he’d just revealed something about himself that he’d kept buried for years, had told nobody else. Fuck, he hadn’t even thought it through, hadn’t even considered that this was potentially ruinous, that this could destroy him.</p><p>Too late now. He’d have to run with it, do some damage control, try to keep this as small and insignificant as possible. Schlatt’s phone buzzed in his hand, almost loosening his grip enough to drop his phone. He brought it back up, panicked eyes roving over the message, the response to his horrid admittance.</p><p>
  <i>wtf schlatt</i>
</p><p>Minx - 1:28 AM</p><p>
  <i>what</i>
</p><p>loverboy - 1:29 AM</p><p>
  <i>????</i>
</p><p>slm - 1:29 AM</p><p>
  <i>wait what</i>
</p><p>Ted - 1:29 AM</p><p>
  <i>u can’t just leave after saying smth like that</i>
</p><p>Minx - 1:30 AM</p><p>
  <i>schlatt, explain</i>
</p><p>Ted - 1:31 AM</p><p>There were no more messages after that, last one had arrived five minutes ago. Guess Schlatt wasn’t freaking out for as long as he thought he was. God, he was so fucked. He didn’t scroll up beyond that, morbid curiosity sated. Now, there was only one question; Did he pretend it was a joke, play it off as nothing more than another piece of could-be-true-but-couldn’t-be Schlatt lore? Or did he double down, finally bring some truth to his words?</p><p>Well, he could always just not answer, but then he’d be thinking about this moment all day, obsessing. Schlatt’s hand shook as he typed out an answer, feeling flushed and nauseous, vision too bright and too blurry all at once. He didn’t try to make a joke out of it, kept it as serious as possible without being overdramatic. He turned his phone off again once he sent it, held it against his chest as he tried to calm down, take deep breaths. It was fine; he was fine.</p><p>
  <i>Used to do some camming on the side</i>
</p><p>Schlatt - 1:37 AM</p><p>His phone started vibrating again, making his heart squeeze, twist, ache. Schlatt turned the lights on, sitting down again so he could take in their replies. God, were they disgusted? Angry with him? Had they just thought it was a joke, and he’d just responded completely out of the blue with information they weren’t looking for, exposing himself for no reason?</p><p>
  <i>WHAT</i>
</p><p>Minx - 1:40 AM</p><p>
  <i>link?</i>
</p><p>Ted - 1:40 AM</p><p>
  <i>wtf schlatt</i>
</p><p>loverboy 1:41 AM</p><p>
  <i>dude</i>
</p><p>slm 1:42 AM</p><p>Schlatt grinned, a panicked, manic sort of expression. Fuck, what had he done? What the actual <i>fuck</i> had he been thinking, how had he come to the conclusion that this was a good idea, in any way, shape, or form? This was a disaster. God, what was he supposed to do now? Was he supposed to move on, act like he hadn’t just… just admitted to <i>being a fucking camboy</i>.</p><p>He hadn’t posted a video in a few years, but the account was still up, buried in the deepest recesses of the internet, only a couple hundred views per video, a website that hadn’t seen significant traffic in almost half a decade. All of his loyal viewers had probably moved on, maybe bookmarking a few of his… more interesting videos, a few of his streams.</p><p>At least, he hoped so. The thought of everybody just forgetting him made him inexplicably upset, an unpleasant weight in his gut. He’d like to think he’d been good enough, entertaining enough, seductive enough to keep some attention, some people still coming back for more. Schlatt turned back to his phone, unlocking it and hunching forward, eyes scanning the screen. Fuck, what the fuck, what the <i>fuck</i>?!</p><p>
  <i>hot</i>
</p><p>Minx - 1:50 AM</p><p>
  <i>schlatt sned the link</i>
</p><p>Ted - 1:52 AM</p><p>
  <i>*send</i>
</p><p>Ted - 1:53 AM</p><p>
  <i>^^vouch</i>
</p><p>slm - 1:54 AM</p><p>
  <i>Schlatt, u gotta show us now</i>
</p><p>loverboy - 1:54 AM</p><p>No fucking way was he doing that. His old videos were… weirdly personal, something he wasn’t going to just display to these people, would not give them that sort of ammo. They could hold them over his head, force him to do favors for them, force him to work for them, puppet him around like a doll on strings. He would never let that happen. He still had the control, the power here. If they wanted to see, he wouldn’t just… show them those.</p><p>After all, there was a perfectly good Schlatt right here. Wait, no, bad idea. They could record him doing that, he’d already put himself too far out there, not able to wrap himself in his pleasant aloofness, his coy words and half-truths. Schlatt covered his mouth, staring at the screen, contemplating. </p><p>
  <i>no link</i>
</p><p>schlatt - 1:57 AM</p><p>Schlatt snorted, exasperated, almost surprised. That’s his follow up? Really? </p><p>
  <i>you gotta show us tho</i>
</p><p>Minx - 1:59 AM</p><p>
  <i>call</i>
</p><p>slm - 2:00 AM</p><p>
  <i>send us a vid</i>
</p><p>Ted - 2:00 AM</p><p>
  <i>call us</i>
</p><p>loverboy - 2:01 AM</p><p>Schlatt’s heart fluttered. Was it… should he? He stood up, walked to his room, almost in a daze. It felt surreal, the way things that happen late at night that could destroy your life do. He got onto his bed, hesitant. Was this really happening? Was he going to do this, whatever ‘this’ was? There was no way he was going to do what he thought he was going to do. Was he going to… put on a show for them?</p><p>Schlatt didn’t call them right away. Just in case he was, he would be prepared. He left his phone on the bed, buzzing away, dug beneath his bed. Schlatt hadn’t put on a show for anyone in a while, but he liked to… pretend, set up his phone, camera off, imagine that there was someone watching him, watching him shove a toy into himself, watching him jerk off, watching him moan.</p><p>He showered, took his time with it, calmed himself down. Okay. Okay, if he was doing this, he needed a game plan. He wasn’t going into this blind; he had to have an idea of what he was doing. Fuck himself? Jack off? Strip tease? Follow their orders, let them control what he was doing, like he used to?</p><p>Schlatt decided on the last one as he toweled himself off, leaving his hair a bit tousled, dripping. He looked at himself in the mirror, considering. Schlatt wasn’t the same twink he’d been when he’d started, he’d put on weight, fat and muscle, he was no longer just a stick, a slender boy. But they knew that, didn’t they? They still wanted to see him, and if they didn’t, he could always pretend it was a joke, as much as it hurt.</p><p>He’d grabbed a few things, things he laid out over the counter, looked almost comically out of place in the light of the bathroom. A pair of panties, a baby blue silk number that was soft, comfortable, complimented the curve of his cock, the swell of his ass. He didn’t put them on, not yet. Schlatt debated whether to wear a hoodie, ultimately deciding that he wasn’t just going to show up practically naked, just in case he was reading this wrong, even after everything.</p><p>Schlatt slipped on a blue hoodie, darker blue than the panties, a presidential hoodie. He tugged the panties up, feeling the fabric stretch. Schlatt was almost afraid they’d rip, but the fabric held. He’d missed the feeling of something so soft, so silky, so pretty. He lifted his hoodie, just teasing the edge of the panties, a flash of light blue. Fuck, he looked <i>good</i>. He turned a bit, arched his back.</p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t had an ass the last time he’d done this. Schlatt inhaled sharply, eyes almost disbelieving. It wasn’t exactly massive, not noticeable to anybody but him, he’s sure, but it's there. Schlatt dropped the hoodie, reaching for the last article of clothing he’d grabbed. </p><p>A set of baby blue thigh highs, almost the exact same shade as the panties. Schlatt had bought them separately, a decision he’d always cursed. He’s sure nobody else had noticed, but the slight difference had always ticked him off, just irritating enough that he couldn’t ignore it without being infuriating enough to replace them.</p><p>He slipped them on, carefully smoothing down his leg hair so it didn’t prickle through. Schlatt sighed, shaky, looked at himself in the mirror again. His face was flushed, pupils dilated, hair messy and hanging over his forehead, not quite long enough to get in his eyes yet. He tugged the hoodie down, hunching in on himself for a moment before relaxing. The thigh highs accentuated the slight muscle definition in his thighs, as well as the softness, a little bulge of flesh over the top, the stretch of skin between the panties and the top of the stockings.</p><p>The panties didn’t hide much, but he was small enough that they weren’t pulled away from his skin. He attached the top of the thigh highs to his panties, twisting around to look at himself, make sure he looked good, that there weren’t any flaws. For a few seconds, he just admired himself, tugging the hoodie in different ways, stressing the arch of his back, his thighs, just psyching himself up. Okay. He was ready.</p><p>He slipped the toy he’d selected into the hoodie pocket, shutting the lights off and returning to his bed, picking up his now-silent phone. Schlatt unlocked it, shoved the toy under his pillow, digging out the half-empty lube bottle from the sidetable, just left it on top. Okay. He could do this. This was fine. Schlatt opened the conversation again, heart pounding against his ribs, feeling like it would explode out of his chest, leave him dead.</p><p>His phone buzzed again. An invitation, join a call with them. All of them. Fuck. Schlatt held his breath, accepted, tried to look as casual as possible. He kept the camera pointed at his upper body for now, mostly at his face. Conversation continued for a split second, shockingly loud in the silence of his room, cutting off the moment they realized he was there.</p><p>Schlatt had to remind himself that he was wanted there, that he wasn’t intruding, that they were there for him. He didn’t speak, just leaned back against his pillows, held the camera over his face, waited for them to say something, ask him to leave, ask him to put on his show, to display himself for them. The silence dragged on, just making him more and more nervous. He couldn’t take it.</p><p>“Yeah?” His voice was mocking, a smile on his face, feigning confidence that he didn’t have. Whatever. He was used to this, it was familiar. Though he didn’t usually have participating viewers, viewers who could speak, viewers he could see, watch the reactions of. He let his eyes flit between them, gauging their thoughts, the way they watched him.</p><p>Wilbur looked like he’d just gotten up, coat on, ready to go out. He stared at the screen with an uninterested expression, only betrayed by the way he didn’t blink, didn’t look away, eyes intense. His hair was messy, artfully mussed. Wilbur was leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, head tilted down at the camera. Was he on his computer? It looked like his office set up, but there was no way he was going to do this in public. Right?</p><p>Minx was clearly on her bed, mirroring Schlatt. She’d dyed her hair a dark red, not light enough to be fire but not dark enough to be blood. She didn’t have any makeup on, not yet, just looked up into the camera with a little smirk. Schlatt hated that smirk, that smug little smile, so self-assured.</p><p>Ted was sitting at his streaming set-up, but it clearly wasn’t prepared, lighting off, camera just out of focus. His face was expectant, brows slightly raised, waiting for something to happen, to break the tension, to take it somewhere. He had a T-shirt, a plain black one, and his hair was just as messy as Wil’s, but it was clearly natural, not a stylistic choice. </p><p>Charlie was in bed as well, sat up against the headboard, knees pulled up so he could rest his phone on them. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, and his eyes kept flicking around the screen, taking in everybody’s faces, the situation. His hair didn’t really get messy, but it was spiked up, frumpy. Schlatt could relate.</p><p>“Well? You got me on call, now what?” Schlatt shifted, spread his legs slightly, felt the breeze on the inside of his thighs. He tried to look as unaffected as possible, but he wasn’t sure it was working. Nobody commented, let him sit there, wallow in the awkwardness.</p><p>“Thought you were going to put a- on a show for us, Schlatt.” Ted corrected, leaned forward a bit, rocked back. Okay. He wasn’t reading too much into it, this was happening.</p><p>“You want me to?” Schlatt sat up, grunting a bit. He didn’t grab the toy yet, didn’t reveal his outfit, just sat up.</p><p>“Get on with it already. It’s been like an entire half hour.” Charlie cut in. His voice was rough with sleep, a rasp that sent shocks up Schlatt’s spine. He sounded whiny, but he was just too tired to pull off petulant, fun, light-hearted. Schlatt rolled onto his knees, grabbed a few pillows and stacked them up against the headboard.</p><p>Schlatt left the phone on top of them for a moment, grabbing some wireless headphones so he could still hear what they said, what they wanted, their orders. He returned, connected them. The others said nothing while he set the phone up, pointing it to the center of his bed. Nothing special, light yellow sheets, a dark brown blanket. Schlatt tried to ignore the soft noises they made when he finally crawled back enough for them to see the thigh highs.</p><p>His gut twisted, nervousness negating any arousal he could’ve felt. Fuck, he looked stupid. This had been some sort of bit, they’d strung him along only to laugh at him, laugh it up, take screenshots and then post it on Twitter to mock him, expose his past. Those videos weren’t hard to find, they’d resurface almost immediately, fuck, fuck-</p><p>“Jesus Christ, Schlatt.” Schlatt looked at the screen. Wilbur had spoken, moved forward in his chair, abandoning all pretense of boredom, hair falling into his eyes as he stared at the screen, gaze hungry. Schlatt shivered visibly, settled onto his knees, legs spread. The hoodie obscured everything, but he couldn’t get enough of the small sounds, the little gasps and curses that he clearly wasn’t meant to hear. </p><p>He smirked, settled back, spread his legs wider. Oh, they were into it. Actually into it. Schlatt didn’t speak, letting them figure out that he was waiting for a request. Usually, this was where someone donated, asking for him to start, stroke his cock, finger himself, suck on a toy while staring into the camera, eyes half-lidded and hazy. He never started without it.</p><p>“Hey, Schlatt. Do you still have those, uh, plushies around?” Ted’s voice was breathy, low. Was he touching himself? Getting off to Schlatt just sitting there, not even doing anything yet?</p><p>“Yeah. Why?” He played with the hem of his hoodie, just twisting it between his fingers. </p><p>“Get one. A bigger one.” There was a finality to the words, one Schlatt wasn’t sure he liked. Were they going to make him..? Schlatt got off the bed, removed his headphones, kept his movements subtle, swaying his hips just enough for it to be noticeable without trying too hard. He left, looked through his house until he came upon one of the bigger ones, a two foot one. </p><p>The air felt chilly, the pad of his feet so loud. He clutched the plush to his chest, sighing. Okay. Schlatt stepped back into his room, shut the door behind him. He picked his headphones back up. They weren’t talking, just the sound of breathing, of rustling. He didn’t move close enough to the phone to see what they were doing, just settled back into the middle, Schlatt plushie in his arms.</p><p>“Sit on it.” Minx’s voice had this weird… not angry, not amused, but somewhere between. Her voice was soft, lacking its usual harshness, a little out of breath. Schlatt complied, set the plush down in the middle and swinging a leg over it. It was so soft, the feeling of its fur rubbing against his thighs weirdly intense, captivating, arousing. He was getting hard, cock pushing out the panties, showing through his hoodie if he moved a certain way. </p><p>“Wait, Schlatt, do you have any toys? Anything you could..?” Wilbur started out strong, voice getting small and lost, losing its bravado. Schlatt didn’t reply, just leaned forward. He had to brace himself before pulling the toy out. It was a simple black one, but it was big enough to make Schlatt scream. He grabbed the lube, moving back to straddle the plush again, waiting for more instructions. </p><p>“Fuck, Schlatt. You can take that?” Charlie’s voice pitched around weirdly, sound fading out. Had he dropped his phone? </p><p>“Yeah, of course I can.” Schlatt scoffed, setting it down beside him. All a facade, he felt butterflies in his stomach, threatening to rise into his throat and cut off his air. Fuck, he was so hard. Something about the humiliation of being so exposed, feeling their eyes on him, knowing they’re watching him, it made his head feel like he’d filled it with fluff, something soft and bright but warm, hot, scorched his skin. His cock twitched.</p><p>“Hold it up against you. I wanna see how big it is.” Ted’s voice was the steadiest out of all of them, surprisingly. Schlatt did, face burning. God, he was a slut, needed something huge, something massive to stretch him out, fill him up, settle deep inside him, crush all those spots inside him, make him scream. </p><p>“Go on, then. Don’t just want to watch you hold it.” Minx’s voice was scathing, made Schlatt’s ears burn. He didn’t take the panties off, just exchanged the toy for lube, leaned a little forward, put more weight onto the plushie. Schlatt drizzled lube over his fingers, didn’t let it drip onto the bedspread. He hoped to be able to sleep here tonight, even if that meant dirtying the plushie. </p><p>He didn’t move slowly, just pulled the panties aside enough to push a finger in, press another alongside it almost immediately. Schlatt scissored his digits, released his panties enough to bring a hand forward, rest on the plushie, support him. He didn’t look at the camera, let his head drop forward, mouth falling open on a moan, a breathy and high ‘fuck’. </p><p>Schlatt didn’t tease, stretched himself methodically, just long enough for it not to hurt him. He avoided his prostate, but the feeling of something inside him, stretching him out, was enough to make him whimper, moan like a whore. Schlatt forced himself to stop, pulling his fingers out, still slick with lube. </p><p>“Wait, turn to the side.” Minx was very vocal, wasn’t she? Whatever. Schlatt did, got off the plush, moved it, straddled it again. He picked the lube back up, faking nonchalance as he slicked it up. Fuck, he couldn’t wait to have it inside him, stretching his hole, pressing against his prostate, pushing his stomach out. Schlatt’s hands shook with nervous excitement as he closed the lube, leaned forward again, arching his back. There were soft pants playing through the headphones, reminders that he wasn’t alone, that they were watching him, watching him fuck himself open. </p><p>He tugged the panties aside again, rested the tip of the silicone cock against his entrance, pushing it in when he heard Charlie let out a soft ‘Schlatt’. Schlatt’s head dropped to his chest, mouth open in a cry, tears pricking at his eyes. He rocked his hips back into it, pushing more of it inside him. He pulled the toy out, thrust it back in, easing it further inside him. When it was finally all the way inside him, he sighed, clenched down on it to feel it rub against his prostate, scrape against his walls. </p><p>“No. Stop.” He tried to pull it out, to start fucking himself silly, but Wil stopped him. He looked at the camera, letting the end of the toy go. There was no response, so he released the panties, the feeling of the silky fabric brushing over his stretched rim, shift the toy inside him, made him whine. Fuck.</p><p>“Holy shit. Schlatt, your stomach.” Charlie groaned. Schlatt pulled the hoodie up, exposing the small red bump in his stomach as he ground down on the plush, groaning at the soft fabric against his sensitive cock, the way it moved the toy nestled so deep inside him. Right. Okay, he had an idea. He dropped his hoodie again.</p><p>The toy was a special one, a vibrator he’d connected to an app that connected to his donations, now just to the app now that he’d stopped streaming. He rocked his hips gently against the plushie, trying to collect his thoughts enough to tell them about it. He grabbed his phone, biting back the moan that bubbled in his throat as the movement further jostled the toy. </p><p>He sent them the link to it, along with an explanation, returning to the plush. Fuck. His thighs shook with the effort of keeping still, waiting for them to find it, open it, use it (use<i>him</i>). </p><p>“Really, Schlatt?” Minx snickered. The toy buzzed to life inside him, making him jerk, moaning. Fuck. She turned it up, saying something that didn’t reach Schlatt’s ears. Fuck, he almost sobbed when she figured out how to change the pace, buzzing in short little pulses against his prostate. Schlatt ground into the pillow, trying to match the pace of the vibrations, feel it grind deep inside him, fuck, so wet, the slide felt so nice, he felt like he could cry from how good it felt. </p><p>The slick feeling of it, but not enough, sliding against his walls, only a few centimeters. He was so fucking full, so desperate, he needed it to fuck him, to move, to do <i>something</i>, but he couldn’t, could only rut against the pillow, feeling it buzz against his sweet spot, slide teasingly over his walls, the resistance whenever he squeezed his hole around it, just to feel the burn. </p><p>“You’re such a fucking slut, Schlatt.” Minx’s voice still sounded teasing, sharp, a cutting edge to it that had Schlatt keening, hands clawing against the plush. Fuck, fuck, <i>fuck</i>. The words were cruel, but they made his head swim, thoughts mushy and dazed, completely focused on the moans, the slick sounds of the others touching themselves to him, watching the way he moved, desperately grinding against his own plush, toy stuffed into his hole, vibrating against his walls.</p><p>“Getting off on this, aren’t you?” Ted added, voice low, dark, almost intimidating but more arousing than anything. Schlatt didn’t speak, just nodding a bit, adjusting his position so he could roll his hips better, get more friction against his cock, feeling the fabric of his panties sliding over his hole, stretched so wide around the toy, the vibrations of the toy so strong that they transferred into the plush, vibrating through his skin, fuck. </p><p>“You look so good like that. Moan for me?” Like he wasn’t shouting, gasping, whimpering, sobbing, fuck, he was so fucking <i>full</i>, it was so <i>much</i>. Their eyes on him, the toy, the plush, rocking against it, feeling the fabric of his panties shift over his cock, just enough to stimulate but not enough to make him cum. Fuck you, Wilbur. He couldn’t say that though, mouth slack, feeling like there wasn’t enough air in the room, like he’d sucked it all in like a flame, one that was about to run on him, consume him.</p><p>“Whore.” Minx laughed, just a little, just enough for it to sting. Schlatt’s hips stuttered, the tip of his cock dragging <i>perfectly</i> over the front of his panties, sending a jolt of pleasure down his spine. He sobbed. The plushie was messy, slick with pre-cum and lube that had slid out of him, spilled down his thighs. His thighs trembled with the effort of moving, rocking into the plush, cock slipping through the mess, making him whine.</p><p>“What? You like being told you’re a whore, Schlatt? A cockslut?” She feigned disbelief, disgust, though he could hear the slick sounds and gasps from her end. Was she fucking herself, too? Sliding a toy in and out in time with his thrusts, imagining it was him? Fingering herself to the sight of him, so desperate, needy, and lewd, spreading herself wide, smearing slick everywhere?</p><p>“You’re so good at that.” Charlie’s voice was strained, still quiet and controlled, but he gasped. Was he stroking himself? Jacking off to Schlatt, rutting against his plushie, panting as he watched his screen, couldn’t look away from Schlatt. Schlatt thrust faster at the thought, moaning louder. Fuck, he wished they were hear, touching him, so he could watch them as he whined, writhed, body twitching and spasming as the pleasure overwhelmed him, crashed over him.</p><p>“Fuck, so pretty.” Wilbur’s voice was reverent, soft. Schlatt knew he was, knew the thigh highs and panties combo looked sinful on him, tempting, seductive. It was nice that Wilbur thought so too, voice low and breathy, moaning in Schlatt’s ears, the slick sounds of him stroking his cock made Schlatt’s mouth water. Fuck, he wished he could suck him off, taste him, feel his hands fisted in Schlatt’s hair.</p><p>"Slut.” Her voice was quieter, lower, husky. Schlatt sobbed, thrusting faster, harder, he just needed a little more, just a little, fuck. The vibrations turned up, on the highest setting, pressed hard against his sweet spot. Schlatt came with a wail, collapsed forward, hoodie soaking in his own load as he fisted the sheets, hips jerking.</p><p>The vibrations didn’t stop, didn’t turn down, the toy still deep inside him, still pressing out his stomach. The pressure turned from euphoric to horrific, painful; so fucking good. He couldn’t move, trying to squirm away weakly. Schlatt couldn’t, the toy nestled too deep inside him, hole clenching around it too hard for it to be dislodged. He felt like his mind was melting, tears streaming down his face as he pleaded, babbled for more, stop, more, stop, fuck, <i>please</i>.</p><p>Schlatt barely noticed when they came, sounds blending with his own pleading, tightening uncontrollably around the toy, bittersweet pleasure sparking though him. He did notice when they finally turned it off, let him relax. He stayed like that for a moment, panting, face buried in the mattress, ass in the air and still stuffed full. </p><p>He got up, whimpering. Fuck, that would hurt tomorrow. Schlatt reached behind himself, grabbed the base of the toy. He steeled himself, biting down on his bottom lip to muffle his moan as he pulled the toy out, leaving him so empty, so cold. He could still feel the vibrations running through him, even after he was empty. The toy was hot, wet, still dripping lube. He got off the bed, left the camera and the headphones there. </p><p>Schlatt put the plushie in the wash, put the toy in a bag so he could clean it when he woke up in a few hours, returned on shaky legs. The cum in his panties was drying, unpleasant and itchy, but he still returned to the middle of his bed, grabbed the camera. Now what? Did he just say goodnight?</p><p>Nope. They’d already hung up, left a message asking him to call them in the morning. He laughed, almost offended, but he understood. It was less awkward this way, less weird than just waiting for him to return, trying to have a conversation about whatever the hell this was at three in the morning.</p><p>Oh well. Schlatt pulled the panties and stockings off, left them in a heap on the floor after he’d wiped himself off. He’d take another shower tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to sleep in his miraculously unsullied bed. The sheets felt heavenly on his heated, overwrought skin, and he didn’t even have to try to fall asleep. Tomorrow would be weird, but that’s fine. He’s fine.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>One more fic today and then I'm taking tomorrow off to make cookies!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>